Bittersweet
by AmethystDelphini
Summary: A oneshot for National Clato Day. [Cato hates his name, will always hate it. Hates himself for letting the one thing he had ever loved slip away.] AU, Cato wins the 74th Hunger Games. T just because it's the Hunger Games.


**Happy National Clato Day everyone! I haven't been very inspired lately for my longer stories, but I'll try to update as soon as possible. In the mean time, in honor of National Clato Day, here's this random oneshot I did. Sorry if the tense gets a little weird, I tried my best to make it make sense.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

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Cato used to love his name. It was a warrior's name. A victor's name. The name of the person nobody doubted would win the seventy fourth hunger games. But then he went in, and saw what could really happen in the games. And now he hates his name with all that is left of his heart.

It's not because his parents, the ones who gave it to him, are dead. The capitol was displeased with his victory. Everyone was rooting for the star-crossed lovers, and who was a broken boy from district two to ruin that? It was supposed to be a showdown between two who had already proven they would give their life for the other. But instead it was him and President Snow could not allow that to go unpunished.

It's not because of the girls who whisper it in the capitol. His parents were murdered, but the capitol still needed a weapon against him. For broken as his mind was, his body remained intact. The women of the capitol would pay well for that body, for the toned muscles and the piercing blue eyes that had captured so many girls attention. He was broken, but his little sister was whole. The thirteen year old with the honey-colored hair who never failed to let everyone know how intelligent she was. She was not afraid of the world, but knew she could beat it. Hard work was all she needed. And since Cato was already gone, he thought it better to let her have a chance at living and he could have his body used for the president's benefit. Getting touched by those people was awful, because the only girl he had ever wanted that from was the only one who showed any restraint. But pretending was too painful.

It's not even because he now sees what the games are. He no longer wants to be a warrior, despises death almost as much as his name. He doesn't care much that he killed. The bloodbaths were pathetic, the boy from three useless, the girl from five and the star-crossed lovers necessary to keep his promise. And he will never regret killing Thresh, only wishes he could have tortured him further. He hates the games because they killed him inside, made any ounce of humanity left in him disappear. But more than that he hates the games because they killed _her_ and that can never be forgiven.

The true reason Cato hates his name is because of the girl who called it in the arena. His district partner, the girl with the knives, with her dark hair and mocking smile that somehow managed to draw him in. Cato did not often fall, but when he did it was hard. And Clove was his weakness, his chink, however much he tried to deny it. She was not like the girls back home who would beg for his attention, nor the fancy capitol girls that claim to love him now. She was a warrior, just as vicious and heartless as himself, but beautiful and delicate all the same. And Clove loved him back, loved him because he was the only one who could challenge her but at the same time the only one who ever took her seriously. But it grew into so much more than that. She let him see her weaknesses, let him comfort her when she woke screaming from nightmares. In return, she gave him something to live for other than the blood and kept his secrets safe with her. Let nobody know how helpless he was to her.

It was supposed to be so easy. After the rule change, the one saying both of them could win, they knew nobody could take them down. The feast was the deal-sealer, because nobody could hope to beat the two most vicious tributes in the arena when they were wearing body armor. She wanted to take out the Fire Girl, she wanted to get another kill. She was the only person he truly wanted to give to, so he allowed her to take what should have been his. She was the only person he truly trusted, so he believed her when she told him he didn't need to watch her back. She was the only person he truly respected, so he waited that fatal split second when she yelled for help, thinking it couldn't be real. But she was also the only person he truly loved, so he burst into the clearing just in time to see Thresh smash a stone into her skull.

He hates his name because that was what she yelled just before the stone came down. He hates his name because it belongs to him and he hates himself, will always hate himself, for not saving her. Every time someone calls him by name, he sees again her broken body lying on the ground as the sun rose over the cornucopia. Feels her shaking hand in his, her silky hair in his fingers as he stroked it and told her she was going to be fine. Tastes the tears that fell on her face when he realized there was no hope for her. Hears her final whispered words. "Win for me." Smells the blood that leaked from her temple as he kissed her, begging her not to go. He heard her approving words when he hunted down Thresh and tortured him to death in her honor. He tasted the sponsor roll they had shared on their last night as he hunted endlessly for the others. He smelled that smoky smell she always carried on her clothes when he found the girl from five and tortured her too, because he'd been chasing her at the feast. He felt her hand in his as he pushed the star-crossed lovers off the cornucopia. He saw her brown eyes one last time as the mutts devoured his final opponents and knew even though he had kept his promise it didn't change what had happened.

Cato hates his name, will always hate it. Hates himself for letting the one thing he had ever loved slip away.


End file.
